


One Hell of A Perk

by pippen2112



Series: Go Back to Sleep Series [6]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bathing/Washing, Begging, Captivity, Cock & Ball Torture, Edging, Humiliation, Kink Masquerading as Aftercare, M/M, Mind Fuck, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Kink, Non-Consensual Touching, Not for the faint of heart, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Verbal Humiliation, season 12 divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 11:29:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15484776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: This game they’re playing with Agent Washington, breaking him down and turning his own lust against him, it only works so long as they can keep him on his toes.  So long as they can keep him on edge and begging.  Sure, there are other methods for breaking a soldier, other means of interrogation and indoctrination that might be more efficient, but Chorus has gone to hell in a handbasket, and Hargrove is getting testy about cash flow and, y’know, actually paying them for their continued services, so they have to take the perks where they can get them.  And breaking Wash is one hell of a perk.PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS, THIS IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART





	One Hell of A Perk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inthrall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inthrall/gifts).



> Special thanks to inthrall for inspiring this series and continuing to shout at me to ensure its continued updates. Thanks to the anon who messaged me requesting this story (I'm sorry, it's been so long since we chatted I forgot what you wanted me to credit you as). And to the Darkest Timeline/AD chat for keeping me motivated.
> 
> As always, this story is very dark, and this segment is no exception. Please, please, *please* mind the warnings. If I've missed anything, please let me know.

For as long as they’ve been partners, Felix has always had a sixth sense about Locus. Even when Locus is at his most cryptic and non-responsive, Felix can tell what he’s thinking. And right now, from the way Locus is subtly angled toward both him and the crate the space pirates are lowering to the ground, the tension radiating through his stature, the way Locus keeps watching him—even through that stupid helmet, Felix can feel those hard eyes on him—his partner is absolutely focused on him. Paying attention and waiting for a reaction.

And for once, Felix doesn’t say a goddamn word. He doesn’t need to. Locus knows he fucked up with Wash today. Knows he pushed too hard and jeopardized their work. The too-stiff line of his shoulders, the rigid set of his thighs, the balled fists at his sides, every detail speaks volumes. Even if they were able to improvise and put Wash back out of his mind, Locus knows Felix isn’t gonna stand for this shit.

The crate thudding on the ground doesn’t quite break Felix from his thoughts, but the pitiful whimper echoing from within does. He shoots the space pirates a pointed look, one eyebrow arching upward. “No, please, rough him up a little more, why don’t you.”

One of the lackeys has the decency to look shamed, but they’re both smart enough to clear the room without a word. Good. Thank God _some_ speck of training sunk into their thick skulls. Space pirates. Felix shakes his head. The extra bodies on the field are barely worth the hassle. And sure, he and Locus will let the pirates have their fun with a certain freckled freelancer, but there are clearly drawn lines that only he and Locus get to cross, certain sights only they get to witness. Wash drugged to the gills and desperate after being left in his fuck box for the better part of a day? That is absolutely at the top of the list.

But this game they’re playing with Agent Washington, breaking him down and turning his own lust against him, it only works so long as they can keep him on his toes. So long as they can keep him on edge and begging. Sure, there are other methods for breaking a soldier, other means of interrogation and indoctrination that might be more efficient, but Chorus has gone to hell in a handbasket, and Hargrove is getting testy about cash flow and, y’know, actually paying them for their continued services, so they have to take the perks where they can get them. And breaking Wash is one hell of a perk.

“Felix.”

 _At last, the soldier speaks!_

Felix lolls his head toward Locus, just enough to take in his rigid posture. Honestly, the guy needs to learn to loosen up a little. Take a load off and let himself out of that _I’m a soldier_ headspace. Strip off the armor and stay a while. Then again, all that repression and control gives Felix something to point his anger at. Maybe if Locus had learned to unclench, he wouldn’t have gotten carried away playing with their pet and actually paid attention.

Playing up his frown, Felix makes himself wait until Locus actually uses his goddamn words to explain himself. It takes the better part of a minute, but seeing Locus shuffle foot to foot like a guilty kid is totally worth it.

“We should let him out soon,” Locus says quietly, his chin tipped ever so slightly downward. “Washington will require attention after—”

“—after you walked him to the gates of relief and held the door open for him,” Felix interjects. When Locus doesn’t respond, he scoffs. “Jesus Christ, it’s like you did it on purpose.”

Locus bristles. He doesn’t speak again, but Felix can feel the waves of unease radiating off him. It’s not like Locus is ever gonna verbalize what he’s feeling, but whatever. They’ve been partners long enough Felix can get the jist from those uneasy vibes alone.

He shakes his head, letting some of his frustrations eek out of his fingertips and flow into the air. Exhaling, he drags his greaved-hands down his face and goes on. “Look, if you’re sick of playing house with the Freelancer, now’s the time to change tactics. _If_ you don’t have it in you.”

Locus’s helmeted head snaps up so fast Felix can just picture the stupid gaping look on his face. It’s a good thing Locus has a hard-on for his armor, ‘cuz Felix has met toddlers with more convincing poker faces.

“No shame in it; not everyone’s cut out for ownership. If you wanna go back to the brute-force-and-bruises method, we can. Might even get Control off our backs for once.”

Huffing in agitation, Locus crosses the room, stooping to undo the latches along the front of Wash’s fuck box. “That won’t be necessary.”

Felix moves swiftly, goosing Locus so he topples over the crate before twisting his arm behind his back and draping his weight over Locus, pinning him. “Then you better not fuck it up again,” he murmurs right next to Locus’s audio receiver, practically nuzzling the line of his throat through the under armor. “Next time I might not be so forgiving.”

For a long moment, Locus doesn’t move. Longer than Felix would expect from a self-proclaimed killing machine. Locus makes no move to throw him off or get free. Just stays splayed over the crate and takes it. _Huh,_ Felix thinks as he grinds his codpiece into the armored swell of Locus’s ass. _If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s enjoying this._

But before Felix can properly appreciate the power of his position, Locus muscles himself upright, rolling up to his full height. One moment, Locus is none too covertly glaring at him; the next, he’s slammed into the nearest wall, Locus’s hand around his throat. “Save your posturing for someone you can actually threaten.”

Felix’s stomach caves in, his dick pulsing at those simple growled words, but he plays it off with a laugh. As he ducks out of Locus’s grip and sidesteps around his partner, he mutters, “Geez, and you call Wash the drama queen.” He feels Locus’s glare at the back of his neck but kneels down beside the box nevertheless, whistling to himself as he works open the remaining latches.

When the box swings open, the overpowering smell of sweat and sex nearly knocks him on his ass. As it should. Wash spent the better part of eighteen hours cooped up in the box and took care of so many pirates, Felix lost count. Of course it stinks of come. And there, just where they left him tethered and wanting, is their Wash.

His head hangs low, making his shoulders strain toward his still-bound arms. In addition to being drugged enough to see god, he must be exhausted. Felix slips the comm-link out of Wash’s ears and sets to work slicing through the ropes binding his hands to the upper edges of the box, noting the raw red abrasions on his skin. Wow, the boy likes his ropes, possibly to an unhealthy degree—not that Felix knows a thing about being “healthy”.

Sweat and cum slop off Wash as Felix eases him out of the box and onto the ground before checking him over for injuries. Wash stays stock still, his open eyes glazed and unseeing. His arms and legs are cramped from spending too long in the same position. His bound cock is rigid and dripping a steady stream of precum, his balls a nasty shade of red, and his asshole is puffy from working himself so hard on the dildo.

Damn, broken is a fantastic look for Washy here. More than once, Felix has to stop himself from reaching down and palming his dick through his armor. They should’ve done this weeks ago and never let him out. But as soon as the thought crosses his mind, he shakes it away. No, they can’t let Wash see this as anything but a punishment. He broke the rules, and now he’s paid the price. And if Locus set him up for failure, maybe his partner deserves a lesson as well. Two birds, one stone. And unbidden, a new kind of torment pieces itself together in his mind.

Felix smirks down at the dirty, dirty freelancer, his heart beating wildly. Now this is the sort of punishment he can get behind.

#

_…Darkness on his skin… Heat low in his stomach… Aches and pains everywhere… Why does he feel like he’s made of glass?_

_How long has he been in the dark? Hours? Days? He doesn’t know. Time drifted away from him long ago. There must have been some time when his jaw wasn’t aching, when his legs and arms could feel, when he didn’t feel like a dirty bathroom floor, but he can’t remember. All he can do is whine and endure._

_At least right now he’s floating between extremes. Trembling but not from the cold. Sweating but not from exertion. Tense but not from… what’s that word? The one for when your eyes go wide and you throat closes up and the urge to run-hide-freeze shatters through you? He used to know it, he swears. Used to know his name, too. What was it again?_

_“…gates of relief and held the door… if you’re sick of playing house… if you don’t have it in you…”_

_A sharp, familiar voice. He perks up, filled with want and need and the powerful urge to bow his head._

_The darkness rattles, shaking him with it. He bites his lip around a yelp._

_“…might not be so for…”_

_Another scuffle._

_“…Save your posturing…”_

_…Breath quickens… numb fingers scramble against the box… gut clenches, and pain flares up his spine…_

_He winces when light pours over him, batting away the darkness. Winces at the snick of a knife through his bonds. At the cold rough texture against his back. He whimpers as the ropes uncoil and pull away. If he could move, he’d reach after them._

_“Easy, easy does it, Washy. Not so fast now.”_

_That voice is so familiar, but he can’t place it. Can’t decide if he wishes he could run from it or bury himself in it. Not like he could move if he tried. Every twitch aches, and his mind is trapped somewhere beyond his body. The two just won’t link._

_Something weaves into his hair, firm and warm and certain. He tries to nuzzle back against the pressure, but his body won’t respond. A whine slips out of his throat. Above him, there’s a hum. “Locus. Bring him.”_

_Bring him? Bring who? And what’s a Locus?_

_… Sturdy pressure under his shoulders and behind his knees… Cold air and colder metal pressed to his skin… Weightless and shuddering, he clings…_

_Armor, he realizes belatedly. Someone in armor is carrying him. Something deep inside his mind grumbles. He can walk, dammit! Wait, can he? He should be able to, at least in theory, but just thinking about trying to stand under his own power leaves him dizzy and nauseous. He burrows closer to the armored chest even if his limbs twinge with pain._

_“Back to the cell?” comes a different voice, deep and smooth and right above his ear._

_“Not yet. You got to have your…” the first voice fades in and out. “…my turn.”_

_“…your room?”_

_“Nah. Yours.”_

_The voice keep whispering over his head, words echoing in and out like ripples across a pond and he’s trapped underwater. He reaches for the words. Recognizes a few. But struggling toward consciousness leaves him aching and exhausted. He sighs. Maybe a little rest. Maybe he can float away for a bit. So long as it takes him away from the cold and leaves him somewhere safe and warm._

_… Doors whooshing open… padded footfalls… the scent of stale jasmine…_

_He looks up, expecting darkness once more; instead he spies a tidy cot, a small arsenal in one corner, and a large metal tub pushed into another corner. Weapons. His gaze lingers even if he can’t feel his fingers. He needs a gun. A knife._ But why? _He doesn’t know, but he stares all the same._

_“You know, Locus,” says the sharp voice, emanating from a narrow-faced man in gray and orange armor a few paces ahead of them, currently leaning over the tub, “for once I’m actually glad you made them haul this monstrosity in here.” He taps his fist against the tub, the answering clang echoing through the room. “A little privacy is just what we need. Don’t we, Washy?”_

_Unbidden, his gut clenches, and another slew of aches ripple through his ass. Why did he do that? Maybe it’s an automatic response. But if he clenched reflexively… do they expect to— After all that time in the box, they want to—_

_Arms tighten around him when he tries to squirm away. He looks up to a faceless helm, a familiar green “x” painted across it. “Answer him,” comes a deep, stern command._

Locus.

_Fuck, he can’t remember his own name, but he knows that helmet. Locus. The mercenary. So that means the guy opening the taps on the tub is Felix._

_… Stomach rolls … His heart beats sluggish and slow… Something sour swells on his tongue…_

_Suddenly, Felix is in his face, cupping his cheek. Part of him screams to snarl at the hand; the rest of him pushes into the comfort. Felix strokes along his cheekbone, grinning softly. “Hey, don’t be scared, Wash. It’s okay. Locs sounds a lot scarier than he is. We’re gonna take care of you, don’t worry.” Then his eyes trail up over Wash’s head—_ that must be my name, right? _—and he shoots Locus a hard look. “Go sit down while I get set up.”_

_Locus sucks in a sharp breath but moves to the cot nonetheless. Despite carrying Wash, he sits gracefully and pushes Wash upright until he’s straddling Locus’s thighs, back pressed to Locus’s cold chest plate. He shivers and squirms as the armor digs into his skin. Hands rest lightly on his hips, narrowly missing a sticky patch of skin. Wash wills himself to hold still. Anything to keep him out of the box._

_“Jesus, how many different kinds of soap do you have?” Felix comments, his voice distant, almost muffled. “And conditioner? Why the fuck do you have three different bottles of conditioner? And is this coconut scented?”_

_A warning growl reverberates against his back. Locus is angry. When he’s angry, his strikes leave Wash gasping, and not in the fun way. He can make it better if he just gets into position. But when he shifts again, Locus’s hands grip hard enough to make him cry._

_…Breath shudders out of him… Eyes sting… Just let him curl up and disappear…_

_Locus’s hand rubs down his thigh, a steady firm pace like he’s trying to sooth a spooked animal. His heartbeat settles as the pressure, the gentleness._

_“Hey!” Felix snaps, his voice flinty and unyielding. “Hands back at his hips. Don’t even think about moving them again.”_

_Locus flinches under him. Sighs. Moves his hands back into position. His brain feels hazy, his head too heavy on his shoulders, but Wash can’t help his wrinkled brow. Since when has Locus taken orders from Felix?_

_He blinks, and Felix is beside the tub, his armor and under suit shed in a haphazard pile. Naked and scarred and unashamed, he struts up and pushes his way between Locus’s knees. Cups Wash’s chin. He’d almost call it gentle if it weren’t for the bite of Felix’s nails under his jaw. Felix drops down to his eye level, breath hot against Wash’s cheek. “Are you gonna be a good boy, Wash, or do we need to put you back in the box for the night?”_

_His head whips back and forth at the threat of all that darkness clawing close around him. Not again._

_Felix chuckles, his thumb prying at the corner of Wash’s mouth. “Use your words, Wash.”_

_He gulps, struggling for his voice. “N-no.”_

_Felix frowns. “Answer me properly, Wash.”_

_He shudders, ducking his head. He catches a glimpse of himself. Naked and filthy, with dirty ropes binding his cock and balls and little more than Locus’s hands pinning him in place. It should take more than that to hold him down, right? Maybe… maybe this is where he wants to be. Could that be right? He sucks in a sharp breath. “No, sir,” he says, but the name feels wrong in his throat. Even if Sir isn’t around anymore, he doesn’t think that name belongs here. Still, he forces himself to continue. “I’ll behave.”_

_“Good boy.”_

_Smirking, Felix wraps a hand around Wash’s throat, his grip just the wrong side of firm. He follows when Felix pulls him up even if he feels likely to topple. Even if his legs tremble under him. Better to follow orders than end up choked. Or worse._

_Felix pads backward on slow, even steps, Wash stumbling after until they reach the edge of the tub. With his other hand, Felix steadies him and ushers him into the water._

_When the tip of his toe touches the water, he hisses. It’s hot. Too hot. Steaming and scented and everything he’s dreamed of after weeks spent sleeping on cold concrete, but his skin is hyper-sensitive._

_Narrowing his eyes, Felix digs his nails into Wash’s neck and pulls him into the water._

_… Heat licking across his skin … Firm arms wrapped around his chest … Squirming, splashing, but he can’t get away…_

_It’s too much, too hot, too intense, but all he can do is grit his teeth and writhe. When a whimper slips past his lips, Felix cradles him closer, all the way into his lap, and coos in his ear. “Shh, easy there, Washy. You did well. You handled the box like a perfect little whore, so now, just relax and let yourself feel good.”_

_His chest tenses, but he doesn’t have much choice but to let himself sink into Felix’s arms as the warm water sluices over his skin. Now that he’s used to the temperature, his eyes fall closed, his mind drifting away._

_… “That’s it, nice and easy…”_

_“Be careful. He’s slipping.”_

_“And I have him. So do what you’re so very good at, and just sit there looking pretty. And keep your hands where I can see them. Can’t have you…”_

_Water ripples up to his ears. Arms tighten around him. He presses his cheek to Felix’s chest and soaks in all the warmth he can get. He knows it won’t last._

_Felix shifts under him. He hears water and soap squish. Firm fingers thread through his hair, massaging his scalp and working loose weeks worth of grime and knots. His head tips back. He moans._

_“Good boy, Washy,” Felix murmurs against the shell of his ear. “Let me hear you.”_

_Once he rinses Wash’s hair, Felix soaps up a washcloth and starts cleaning Wash in earnest. He carves a meticulous and invasive path. Between the cloth and soapy fingers, no inch of Wash is left untouched. Felix hauls him around like a ragdoll, cleaning every nook and cranny. Behind his ears. Between his toes. Even up into his ass. He squirms away, looking around the room for something to focus on. His eyes land on Locus. Even if the mercenary hasn’t removed his helmet, Wash feels those eyes on him. Absorbing every little twitch. He turns to hide his blush against Felix’s neck._

_“C’mon, Wash, hold still,” Felix says cheerily as he prods a particularly sensitive spot along Wash’s side. He yelps, struggling against a laugh. “Don’t make me get out the scrub brush.”_

_“S-sorry, sir.” He bows his head. Bites his lip. Wills himself to be still. Tries to ignore Locus watching him like a hawk and focus instead on the warmth and the comfort and the fact that, for the first time in ages, he feels almost human._

_“That’s better.” Felix’s words come out soft and smooth; the hiss of his breath across Wash’s skin makes him shiver. “Just rest and relax.”_

_He lets his head loll backward against Felix’s shoulder. Lets his voice and those hands sooth him into a warm doze. Somewhere at the back of his mind, his common sense is screaming at him, but that part of him shut itself away when he got locked in the box—it doesn’t get a say anymore. And after weeks, hell maybe months for all he knows, with only ropes and unyielding strikes and near-painful arousal for comfort, he’ll take what he can get. So he lets himself drift and enjoy the warm murmur against the column of his throat and the little flickers of pleasure flaring in his chest._

_“You like it when I touch you?” Felix whispers, just loud enough for his words to carry. As he speaks, he trails his fingers up the insides of Wash’s arms._

_Breath hitching, he nods._

_Felix pinches him. “Your words, Wash. I won’t remind you again.”_

_“Yes, sir. I do,” he pauses, gulping until his voice settles. “I do like it.”_

_“Really? How about this?” Felix cranes forward and licks a stripe up Wash’s neck, nibbling at his ear._

_Goosebumps creep up his spine. “Yes, sir.”_

_Fingers slide over his chest, flicking his nipples. “And this?”_

_He bites his lip, but a whine still escapes him. He strains after the touch, chasing the sensation. “Yes, sir,” he groans._

_Felix chuckles, sucking Wash’s earlobe as he tweaks Wash more purposefully. Bit by bit, Wash presses into his hands, squeezing his eyes shut and praying that Felix moves southward. “Yes, yes, yes,” he whispers under his breath._

_Cot springs creak, but Wash just bares his neck and balls his fists and prays for more._

_“Stop it,” Felix grunts, his mouth only millimeters from Wash’s skin. Wash goes rigid, but Felix doesn’t stop teasing. Doesn’t stop grinding against the small of his back. “One more move, Locus, and I’m cuffing your hands behind your back and sticking you with your nose in the corner.”_

_Wash whimpers despite himself._

_“No no, Washy,” Felix says, suddenly sweet and teasing again. “You’re doing good. So so good. You like being good for me?”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“Good little slut. I think you deserve a reward.”_

_He jerks forward, straining in Felix’s arms. “Please, sir.”_

_“Very good.” Felix’s hands glide down his abdomen, and he tenses all over. “How about this?” Felix asks as he finally,_ finally _, wraps his hand around Wash’s cock and strokes from the rope cinched tight around the base up to the tip, his rough grip smoothed by the water._

_Moaning, Wash arches into the touch, his entire spine curving to follow the pleasure. Hands and feel slip against the sides of the tub. He scrambles for purchase, but Felix doesn’t speed or stop his slow, even strokes. “Good,” he gasps before Felix can stop and yank away this reward. “Feels good, sir.”_

_A laugh startles out of Felix. “What a good boy. That’s what I like to hear.” Every stroke is measured, every movement calculated, but Wash can’t help bucking desperately into the touch. Trusting into that tight circle of friction. “Just stay like this, Wash. Loose and relaxed and feeling so good. I want you to enjoy this. But remember, Washy. No cumming. If you cum again, we’ll have to punish you.”_

_A low groan rumbles through the room. His eyes fly open. Locus hasn’t moved an inch on the cot, but his back is stiff and his thighs are shaking. Even if he can’t see it, he can taste Locus’s cock in his mouth, heady and musky and filling him so far he can barely swallow it._

_His dick throbs, and all too quickly, Felix releases him. Another whine ripples in his chest, but Felix tips his chin to the side so Wash has to look at him. Fuck, he’s never seen Felix from this close before, but those normally beady eyes are blown wide, black with desire. His throat constricts despite him. “Behave, or we’ll have to put you back in the box. And you don’t want that, do you, Washy?”_

_He shakes his head hard. Not the box. Anything but the box. Not now that he’s warm and clean and happy to just drift. “No, sir. Please, sir.”_

_“Shh, good boy.” Felix slides his hand back to Wash’s cock. “Just lay back and enjoy for me.”_

_So he tips his head back and spreads himself and soaks up every glide across his dick. Teasing caresses punctuated by a firm stroke or a thumb rubbing his glans or a sharp tug at his balls. He’s boneless to the pleasure, lost and floating away for as long as he can. He knows it won’t last; best make the most of it._

_… A breathy whimper… Water splashing against the tub… A satisfied chuckle…_

_“See, Locus, this is how you do it,” Felix’s voice drifts over him. “Sure the stick keeps him on his toes, but a little carrot now and again, and_ this _is your reward.”_

_“Felix.” So much need wrapped into Locus’s single word._

_“Nope. Not another word.”_

_Wash bites his lip. His hips twitch into Felix’s grip. He whines._

_“What’s the matter, Wash?” Felix coos in his ear. “You feeling left out? Can’t get off if you aren’t the center of attention? What an eager slut.”_

_Despite the bonds constricting him, his balls pulse. “Please, sir,” he cries._

_“You want to say something?”_

_“Yes, sir,” he pants, struggling to keep still. “ ‘M getting close.”_

_Felix hums against his throat. “Good little whore. Tell me how it feels.”_

_“Good, sir. So fucking good.” He gasps, his hips thrusting again._

_Felix pulls him close. Grinds against the small of his back. His grip tightens. “Go on.”_

_He gulps. “Feels like there’s nothing left of me. Just all this good. All this—_ Ah! _” He shrieks when Felix palms the head of his cock. “Please, sir, please!”_

_“Good slut.” Felix drops his hand to Wash’s balls, squeezing firmly as his hips jerk. “That’s what I like to hear. That you feel good and close. But, Washy, do you really want all this good to be over?”_

_“Sir?”_

_The cot springs groan._

_“I mean, if I make you come now, then the good feeling’s gonna stop.”_

_He whimpers._

_“And you don’t want that, do you, Washy?”_

_He shakes his head. “No, sir.”_

_“That’s right. You wanna keep being my good little slut. You wanna keep feeling good.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_Felix bites his ear, whispering. “Tell me what you want.”_

_“Wanna be your good little slut,” he gasps out as Felix strokes him so so slowly. “Wanna keep feeling good.”_

_“Beg for it,” Felix growls._

_“Please, sir!” comes a desperate, breathy voice. “Please, keep making me feel good. Please, please. I wanna feel good. Wanna be so good.”_

_“And how do you do that, slut?”_

_“By not coming?”_

_Felix chuckles again. “Good boy. Now, open your eyes and look at Locus for me.”_

_He obeys. Even if he’s still wearing the helmet, Wash can read all the anticipation coiled tight in Locus. The want and the waiting ready to snap._

_“Now, repeat after me, Wash. Word for word,” Felix mutters in his ear. “Please, sir.”_

_“Please, sir.”_

_“Don’t stop.”_

_“Don’t stop!”_

_Felix gives him another stroke, whispering, “Don’t let me cum.”_

_“Don’t let me cum!” he shouts as he thrusts into the tight circle of Felix’s fist, wanting and waiting and begging, his gaze never leaving Locus. “Fuck, don’t stop, sir. Please! Wanna keep feeling good.”_

_Felix’s chest shakes against his back. “Well, what do you think, Locus?” Laughter and malice ring in each word, but Felix never stops edging him. “Has he been clear enough?”_

_Locus doesn’t answer, but his hips hitch forward, grinding into thin air._

_“Yeah, I agree. I think the little slut has done so good for us.” Felix clamps his hand tight around the base of Wash’s dick. He reaches around with his other hand, once more palming Wash’s glance until he’s arching and shrieking. “Go ahead, Wash. Beg for it.”_

_“Don’t stop, god don’t stop. Don’t let me come! Please, I don’t want it to stop. Don’t stop!”_

_And Felix doesn’t. He polishes Wash’s cock through his cries, through his flails. He holds tight until Wash goes limp against him, all the fight burned out of him. Until Wash can’t do anything but beg for more and take it._

#

When he comes back to himself, the bathwater is cold and Felix is pushing him into Locus’s arms. Locus dries him off quickly, his grip firm through the towel and every touch frustrated and possessive. By the time he finishes, Felix reappears with a new coil of rope and a knife. Locus holds Wash tight against his chest, not that he needs to bother. If he was worn out after the box, now he’s past the point of exhaustion. 

With careful hands, Felix unwinds the water-soaked ropes around his groin, his pressure and friction minimal as he drops the ropes to the side. Wash groans as blood rushes through his dick, making him pulse and twitch. Laughing, Felix slaps his dick aside, and spanks his balls thrice in quick succession. Were it not for Locus’s arms around him, Wash would crumple.

Felix stands quickly and coils fresh rope around Wash’s neck and wrists, tethering his wrists to his neck. When he’s finished, Felix pats his cheek, smirking. “Gotta give your dicklet a little time to breathe, but at least this way you won’t go getting yourself in trouble.”

As Locus carries him back to his cell and uses the rope tails to tie him kneeling with his back against the wall, Wash nearly cries. 

_The good feeling isn’t over. Not yet._

**Author's Note:**

> We're getting close to the (possible) end of this series. In part because I'm getting burnt out of in, in part because I have so many ideas or original work and fic, it's hard to keep up. I have at least one more fic in mind for Wash, but after that things are up in the air. Thanks you to everyone who has followed this series! Without y'all, it would not have come this far. You inspire me to new depths of depravity.
> 
> Suggestions, questions, comments and concrit all welcome! Come scream with me on Tumblr (birdsbeesandlemonadetrees.com).


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